CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I took a temp job cleaning ‘neckbeard nests’. It was the worst mistake of my life" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 28, 2020

I found something. I think I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.CREEPYPASTA STORY►by LA-miserly: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm... Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Mikhail Rakhmatullin: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/W8EwvSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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on Shopify. That is Shopify. combe. Five years ago, what I'd be doing with my life, it wouldn't have been this. Now, don't get me wrong, after the crisis hit and I got that red notice, I was happy to get any kind of income flowing in that I could. After all, the bills didn't give a damn about social distancing.

But now, as I sit here, typing in the dark, because I'm bone-wide terrified of what I may see when the lights come on, there's nothing I could wish for more than to go back in time. Just three weeks, so I would have the better mind to delete that damn email before I opened it, and maybe sit the laptop on fire just to be on the safe side. I don't know why I'm writing this. Think of it as the last memoirs of a man who's quickly losing his grip on reality. I'm being dramatic. I always wanted to be a writer.

Let me start over. I was desperate for work after I got laid off five months ago. down-sizing, they said, and six dedicated years of my life were made irrelevant with one letter. Can you believe it? A letter. My boss didn't even have the balls that tell me to my face. It may be hard to imagine, but the job market for mechanic, but only with printers and air-conditioners, wasn't really booming when everyone was out of the office, and it was midwinter New England January, so I had to suffer through the worst of it.

It wasn't that bad, honestly. Even without comparing it to the hell I'm living in now. I was a poor college student, broker them most, and got by on thrift store clothes and beans and rice just fine. Even the two years after that, back when I was a drifter, I scrounged by with our jobs and soup kitchens.

I used to struggle. But there was something about it all that just made me feel so desperate. Like this was the end for me, like I was drowning, and just waiting for that floating ring of life to appear so I could grasp at it. On second thought,

I might have been having a panic attack. That ring came in the form of an email in my inbox one morning, crammed right between an alert for the latest Starbucks drink, and some spammy advert about singles in my area. It looked like spam even. I remember hovering my mouse over it, wondering what type of crap software Yahoo used for all this junk to slip through the caps of my filter

before I pressed click. I don't even think I did it on purpose. It was like an accident. I can't remember consciously telling my brain to send the signal to my fingers. It was like some force decided for me, an invisible hand pushing and pushing until it was done.

The actual ad was less suspicious from what I can remember. A decently professional email offering a part-time gig cleaning places. Not the usual junk like hotels or banks, but the gritty stuff. Foreclosed houses evicted apartments. Places where the prior occupants most likely weren't pristine beacons of humanity. None of the usual red flags were there. The pay was decent, but not ridiculous. The hours were on the long side.

But they made it clear we would only be called in three times a week or so. All I had to do was fill out a quick application on their website, leave my phone number, and they'd get back to me in about a week. It took all of 15 seconds for me to decide to click the link and fill it out. There was no real risk. The questions were generic enough, no real possibility of them using it against me. I sent it in, closed my laptop and sighed. It was then I realized that, in my weeks of wallowing, in my own despair, I'd never signed up to any job websites.

My resume wasn't even online anywhere. How did they even get my contact information? Like the idiot I am, I ignored it. It's here now, almost in the room with me. I can't see it, but I can smell it. Hold on. Okay, where was I? Oh, the phone call.

I got the call two days later, after I had already forgotten about the whole thing. On the other side came the drawing, bored voice of who I assumed was the boss's son. The kid sounded young, no older than 13, 14 at the most. He spouted some rehearsed script about how thankful they were that I applied, how my experience made me a perfect candidate, and if I could go into work the next day. I don't have a uniform, I said to him. Uh, you got any jeans? Professional.

After assuring that, yes, I did have a pair of Levi's rolling around, the kid rattled off some address. I told him to slow down, that I needed to write it down, but he told me not to worry. They just text it to me. When I got the message, I knew I was in for some trouble. The place was smack dab in one of the worst parts of town A two-bedroom apartment on the north side

That needed cleaning after the sole occupant got kicked out for non-payment If you couldn't afford the rent in that area Then you had to have been in a real tough place I wasn't looking forward to it Not at all But I was on my last can of ravioli And the towels I stuffed around the window panes Weren't keeping the cold out anymore

I was there bright and early at 8 in the morning. I don't have a car, so I had to call an Uber, and pressing pay on those precious few dollars was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do my life. The ride over was depressing. I never knew how quick the transition from an okay neighbourhood to a bad one was.

I knew that I would be checking over my shoulder the whole time I was here. We pulled up to a deceptively nice apartment building, not too tall. maybe five or six stories, painted in a welcoming amber that crashed with a muddy graze of all the buildings next to it. My driver was quick to speed off the second I got out of the car. Maybe that should have been a warning. There were no bad vibes.

None of that hoodoo nonsense. It was a normal apartment in a terrible neighbourhood and standing at the front of it gave me a misguided hope that just maybe, this job wouldn't have been as bad as I thought. Some ten minutes later, I heard a struggling pickup pull up behind me, blasting old-time jazz tunes. Oh, right. The kid told me that I'd be working with a partner, some business veteran who would show me the ropes.

The man who hopped out of the janky, decrepit pickup, wasn't exactly who I had in mind. He was a chubby, balding giant, with a ring of long white hair, encircling the centre of a shiny scalp in some poor man's imitation of a mullet. And if you're too poor to pull off a mullet, well, that's saying something.

Oh, damn, he cried when he saw me, pulling lips into a toothy grin. You must be the new kid. I felt a pang of aggravation at the name. Honestly, the guy looked younger than me, at least in the face. He was nearly wrinkle-free, still glowing with the optimism

only a mid-20-something could have. If it weren't for the hair, the sloppy overalls he wore, he wouldn't have looked out of place on a college campus. On the other hand, he made my jeans and sweater look overdressed. Nice to meet you. I introduced myself with a fake smile, and he ambled over to pull me into an energetic handshake. His hands were soat,

and he smelled like lemon pledge and tobacco. The stench combined in the same. the most unappealing way, and I tried to hide the way my nose flared. He noticed. You'll get ready soon enough for these kind of jobs, he juggled. Just wait and see. I'm Louis. The kid at the office said that Louis would be bringing our supplies.

Supplies, apparently being six boxes of industrial-sized trash bags, a buckets of cleaning stuff, a few bundles of masks and gloves, and a vacuum. between the two of us it only took one trip to haul everything into the lobby Louis took the opportunity to babble endlessly going through the rungs of his life story even though I

poignantly did not ask within the span of ten minutes I learned what town he was from how his dad would beat his mom how many times he got arrested and the last time he managed to hudwink some girl into actually sleeping with him the guy was exhausting

The inside of the place looked as dimmer as the outside. Tanned walls and manageable clean floors, with a plastic plant perched in the corner for decoration. There was no one there besides us. Don't worry, the office gave me a key yesterday, Louie had said. So we looked all our stuff to the elevator and took it up to the fifth floor, second to last.

The hallways were innocent enough as well, except for one thing. It was totally silent. Once the groan of the ancient elevators stopped upon our exit, everything fell to a still quiet. It was like a library, except even a library at the sounds of pages turning and pencil scribbling. Not a lot of occupants, huh?

I turned to Louis to ask. The sound shocked me, even though it was my own voice. It broke through the air and shattered it, like a baseball through a window, like it was something that didn't belong. It made me feel uneasy. I don't have the foggiest idea what you mean.

He smiled. The sarcasm made me grimace. We made our way down the silent hall, a stretch of brown carpet and flickering ceiling lights that seemed to go on forever. This place was bigger on the inside than it had seemed when I was standing out front. After what had to have been at least eight minutes, we reached our destination.

Apartment 528. It seemed normal enough, at least from the outside. The door was the same brown oak as all the rest, not exceptional in anything. The guy who lived here got away with dodging his rent for three years. Can you believe it? Louis took the opportunity to fill the silence with his chatter as he searched through his personal things for the key. Some computer engineer guy that

worked from home, so you know he had some money took away. He used to live it with his mom, but she passed down near a decade ago. He finally found it at the bottom of one of his bags, pulling out the shiny silver like it was a prize.

He winked at me and tapped it against his temple before pushing the key into the lock. He turned, grabbed the doorknob, then moved to enter before he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to look at me, and I can remember his uncharacteristically serious face

sending a sudden chill down my spine. Now, listen. He drawled carefully, slowly. This is your first day in the job. I'm not going to fault you for that. But you have to listen to what I say, all right? This job can be... Complex.

I wanted to scoff. But I remained quiet. Geez, the dude was acting like we were the local bomb squad. Instead, I gathered all my self-control and settled on one, grim nod. He searched my face for a bit, then must have been satisfied with whatever he saw, because he pushed open the door and we walked in. My God, even now, even if I mustered up every ounce of creativity, I wouldn't be able to describe the smell.

I'll damn sure try. It was as if Louis opened the gates to hell. Outside, the hallway had been a chilly temperature, but a wall of sweltering heat hit us the second we walked in. Sweat, beaded on my brow almost immediately, and I regretted wearing the long sleeve. Right behind it was the smell. And even now, the memory of it makes me gag.

I did, actually, throw up at the moment. Bile had shot up my throat like a natural response, but I had the mind to swallow it down before I made this mess worse. Imagine the smell of a rotten potato when it degrades into that disgusting brown goop whose smell reminds you of fish and garbage. Now, multiply that by ten, then mixing the stench of intense body over,

stagnant water, and something rotten. Jesus Christ, I gagged. Louis let out a low whistle. The apartment itself was in no better shape. It was almost pitch black, and my eyes took a second to readjust. Once they did, it was easy for me to see why. Blankets had been nailed across the windows,

as if the occupant were trying his best to keep any trace of sunlight from entering. The light from the hallway made it easier to see, and suddenly I wished we were in pitch black. The place was a mess. No, that's an understatement. The place was a total wreck. The floor was carpet, or at least it used to be.

I could only see flex of it peeking out from the mile-high heaps of garbage that littered the ground. Loose papers, mail, old pizza boxes, decorated with various fast food bags. The trash covered almost every surface, at least from where I could see. It was baffling to think that one man could make this much of a mess in only a few years. This looked like decades worth of effort. I took a step in, I dried out chicken bone snapped underneath my foot. From my next, I carefully aimed at the nearest piece of bare carpet and made a jump for it. When my foot landed, it sank.

The sound of something wet, squishing from underneath it. It brought another fume of putrid with it, and I gagged and knew. There were bottles, too, two litres, mountain two of course. There were so many of them stacked neatly wherever they could fit. I counted 30 of them before I gave up. They were the only things arranged in some sort of order in the whole place. Pea bottles, Louis said confidently. and I felt my breakfast coming up.

He shook his head casually, as if this wasn't the worst thing he had ever laid eyes on. These types always have them, he tisked, pulling on a pair of gloves. The bathroom's right there, but they never seemed to make it. I knew what type he was talking about. All my time spent trawling the internet

has made me privy to some terminology. I believe the term was neckbeard, oversized man-children neglected their hygiene and humanity in favour for the pleasures of video games and other similar affairs are modern-day hedonists and dredges of society

come on kid he threw another pair over to me jutting his chin out to the mountain of trash before us we got a job to do once the initial shock wore off apprehension was close behind it

I wasn't sure how the company expected only two men to get through this in one day. At least, I assumed it was one day. There had been no mention of coming back to this place later that week, and thank God for small miracles. There was like a... A smog about the place. A my asthma, I think the word is,

like the air was more sludge than gas, grabbing up all the oxygen in our lungs and replacing it with a bitter stank that curled my nose hairs. I've used that phrase before. something so horrible it makes your nose hair's curl. But I must have been the first person in the world to take that literally. No, really, the first person. Louis was fine.

In fact, he had taken to using the dustpan as a shovel, heaping mounds of garbage into trash bags with haste. He was whistling too. Some light ditty with a lit cigarette hanging from his lip. The smoke billowed straight up, mixing with a miasma to create an entirely new scent that ticked me off just as much as it disgusted me. Do you mind? I hissed.

He laughed me off, not even bothering to look at me. I grabbed the extra dustpan and decided to mimic his movements. It seemed like the most productive way to cut through the mess. He all learned one day that the SIGs help, he said off-handedly. Help with what? The stench? They helped. Could you believe that?

I couldn't. The smell of those cancer sticks was always number one on the list of things I hated them most. Sure, they got knocked down a few pegs after today, but the distaste was still there. He took the chance to segue into more useless tales of his life, with no input from me, of course. His high school life, how he was a bully turned student advocate after some life-changing scare, his college years, his endless search for jobs that somehow led him here. It's tough work, he gruffed out between scoops of green-tinged McDonald's bags. But it's honest work, once you know how to manage it.

You'll learn all the tricks, all the warnings. The pay isn't half bad either. Warnings. That part made me curious. The pay's not bad, huh? I asked instead. Louis whistled again. "'Hell yeah, brother. You see that beauty outside?'

He pointed his thumb in what I assume was the direction of the rust and wheels he called the truck. Brought her in straight cash, just four weeks after I started here. "'Impressive,' I muttered sarcastically. "'I didn't see your car parked out front,' he said. "'I shrugged, busying myself with our work. He laughed then, that greatlyingly annoying choking. sound. Don't have one, huh? Listen here, how about I give you a ride home after all this is through? There was almost nothing that sounded worse than me than spending 15 minutes trapped in a moving

vehicle with his smell and his voice, except, of course, paying the $23 for the same 15-minute ride. So, instead, I nodded, and he laughed, and then we went back to the mess. It took at least three hours to clear the living room. By the end of it, We had filled six bags to the maximums. And let me remind you, these wines your usual grocery store affairs. These bad boys were the type you bought in hardware stores. They were big. Even with the floor clear, I knew the room was a total loss.

A purpleish grey that hung heavy with the weight of something liquid. They were thick brown stains, almost black every few feet, crossed it around its edges. It smelled marginally better, which led us. know that the bulk of the smell must have been coming from somewhere else. This is a two-bedroom, you said. I sighed, already exhausted. Louis nodded, slaps me on the back, then tossed me another trash bag. Lunchtime ain't here yet, brother.

The bathroom and the first bedroom were, unsurprisingly, in a similar state to the first. The garbage mountains that cleared at least two inches above my own frame, suspicious soda bottles filled to the brim with dark, amber, amber. liquid and discarded food containers were all that awaited us. I still couldn't fathom how one man could do all this by himself. Even stranger, other than food and pee, there were almost no signs that anyone had ever lived here. No signs of a personal touch, no posters or silverware, there wasn't even a sheet on the mattress,

leaving it bare and his stain as the rest of the place. I brought it up to Louis to see if he had any ideas. It's not unusual, he shrugged. People who do this kind of thing take to fleeing in the middle of the night when no one can see them. They pack up their clothes and things and just run. They leave whatever they can't carry. It made enough sense at the time.

Then we found someone else in the bathroom. A she, actually, with shiny skin and red lips pursed in an eternal pout, winking seductively. Her chest were cones that jutted out dangerously as she was tossed on top of a mound of burger boxes and used napkins in a bathtub, upside down, and legs spread eagle. Looks like our tenant was enjoying himself.

Louis chortled, a tear running to his eye, pushing the doll to the side with the end of his broom. Leave it, he gasped in between breaths. We'll pop it later, then put it with the rest of the junk. It was nearing three when we cleared through the rest of the abyss. It was hell work, I thought. No way I'd ever do this again. Just block the company number and go back to destitution. But I have to admit, it was satisfying. Looking back over the place when it was all said and done, seeing how I took that den of degeneracy and turned it into something almost decent, it down near brought a tear to my eye too. Except that smell. It was still there. Damn, it almost had gotten worse.

Sure, those rosa trash bags we had lined by the front door weren't no field of roses either. But this was something entirely else. It was like all that garbage was just padding to cover up a stench that was even worse. Where is that coming from? I looked around, and then my eyes landed on the door. It was the door to the second bedroom,

the one we had forgotten. about. Damn. I was crushed. We weren't done after all. I wasn't looking forward to tackling that beast, but the sooner we got it over with, the sooner I could go home. I reached for the doorknob, and Louis yanked me back. He damn near popped my elbow out of the socket. It stung like hell. Christ, man, I shouted. His hand was still on me, crushing my skin under his fingers in a vice-like grip. The man was stronger than he looked. He was still smiling, but it wasn't really there. His eyes weren't smiling. They were the same cold steel from back in the hallway, that had a place seriousness that wasn't becoming of him. You just leave that one well alone, he murmured in that

low and slow tone. I wrenched my shoulder from his grip, but he snatched me back as fast as lightning. You can't be serious, I argued. We've got to go in there. Something's rotting, man. He just shook his head. It's our job. That, he pointed to the door. It's not our job.

Out here was our job, and we did it. Now come on. He started to pull me to the exit, but I managed to slip from his grasp. I gestured to all the trash bags we had accumulated. We can't just leave these here. We're not. He tapped the face of his watch.

It's lunchtime. We'll go eat and swing back and toss him out. An idea came to my mind. I'm not hungry, I said after a moment. He quirked his brow, and I shook my head, looking back at the room. You can't expect me to eat after all this, can you? I can't even be around food right now. I'll puke.

So, what do you want to do then? You go on lunch, I affirmed. I'll stick behind and throw out these bags, maybe sweep a little, maybe make the place look a bit nicer. Then by the time you get back, everything will be done and we can go home. That's awfully nice of you, he said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Think of it as thanks for the ride. I don't like owing people. He took a long moment to consider me, staring me.

staring me up and down, sizing me up. He didn't trust me. I put on my most earnest face and waited it out. It took minutes, but eventually he seemed satisfied with whatever he saw. He nodded at me, then went out the door. After a beat, I tiptoed over and placed my ear against the wood. He was still there. I could hear him.

He was breathing. deep and hard, like he was holding something back. The scent of artificial lemons and smoke still tickled my nose. He stood there for a long time, and so did I, before I finally heard the sounds of his footsteps moving back down the hall. A moment, and then the archaic groan of the elevator, before he stepped on, and it continued its journey downwards. I waited longer still, until the sound of what I could convince myself,

off was his truck puffed down the street. Screw that guy. I wasn't going to let some meth-ed with a chain smoking problem compromise my paycheck. There's nowhere the company wouldn't fork over full wage if we left an entire room filled with junk, no matter what, Louis said. If I had to be the one to clean it all by myself, then so be it. I won't lie. I hesitated before I opened the door.

The stench was definitely coming from whatever was in that room. Tendrils of the scent smoked out from underneath the crack like a warning. I should have listened to it. If whatever was in there smelled worse than everything that was out here, I wasn't eager to find out what work I had waiting for me. I opened the door and gasped. God Almighty, the place was spotless. And someone lived in there.

Or they had, at least, at some point. It was entirely different from the rest of the apartment, like someone took a saw and cut a chunk out of the house somewhere else, then just dropped it here. The walls were panelled in a light pink, and the floor was a sturdy wood. There was a small medical bed in the corner, dressed completely and layered with a red quilt.

Next to it was a side table, with a small fern and a book laid coverside down. Portraits were hung up on the walls. nothing insidious, still lives of fruit and waterfalls. From where I was, I could just barely see into the closet. A few sweaters was suspended up on the racks, next to folded fabrics, pants no doubt. And the smell there was gone. It smelled fine, a little peachy even.

What the hell? I had muttered, taking a tentative step in. The door closed behind me, but I paid it no mind. All of the doors in that place were like that. They were waited strangely. There was no sign to the stench anywhere in here. I took my time looking around the room, taking curious peaks into dresser drawers for any spare garbage. Maybe a dead rat had snuck into air for its final moments, or maybe 20.

But there was nothing my eyes could perceive. It appeared to be a perfectly normal bedroom. I don't know when I made my way over to the bedside, but I did. The drawers in it were completely empty, spotless. I dragged a finger over the wooden surface and brought it up to my face for inspection. No dust. I frowned and wiped my finger off on my shirt anyway. There wasn't anything here.

Louis must have been right when he said to leave it. the guy might not have been so crazy after all I went to leave and something caught my eye the book it was innocent enough the back a light velvet and the spine firm our tenant didn't seem the type to enjoy a good book so it made me curious

I turned it over it was a Bible though someone had crossed out the second B with a needle angry screeches were embedded on the velvet, crisscrossed over and over until the letter was barely visible.

It was only the light from the window that even allowed me to read it. I was never a religious man, but it chilled something in me. I don't know why, but I flipped it open. It read, Genesis 1

In the beginning, God created, blank, and it was without form and void, and darkness. I frowned. That's not how it was supposed to go. Words in the passage have been blacked out, entire sections. I turned to the next page, and the breath left out of me.

The entire page was blacked out, corner to corner. I started to flip through them, even faster. Blank, blank, blank. Who would do this? I whispered to myself. In my haste, my finger slipped from where it cradled the edge of the book. My index finger brushed the sea of dark and came up wet. Sludge. It was black sludge smeared across the pages,

the very same that now clung to my finger and dripped down my skin. It wasn't just wet. It was fresh. Wait a minute. I looked up and met bare wall. I turned to one side, then the other. Walls. Nothing but walls and the door behind me.

There were no windows here. I hadn't hit a switch when I walked in. Where was this light coming from? My blood ran cold and I dropped the book. Why was it so bright in here? The rest of the apartment was near pitch black, even with a light from the hallway. I started panicking, breath quickening in my chest as my eyes frantically raced around. Something was wrong here.

I looked back down to the side table at the glossy wood and the fern plant. I reached out to touch it. This plant wasn't fake. It was real and it was alive. That plant had been here for six weeks. Someone's still here, I whispered. I was wrong. Earlier when I said that there were no bad vibes.

That's all. I could feel right then. An oppressive darkness that weighed down on me, pushing the air out of my lungs and crushing them. No, not crushing them. Filling them up with sludge until I was choking on it.

The stench was back, I realized, full force. It seemed to emanate from everywhere, pulsing out in waves and stinging my eyes. A rancid, heavy rot, there was nothing but heat. Sweat poured down my face in a second, falling into my vision and blurring them.

Tears rolled down in response, unabashed, and the noise started to sound. It was... Me. I was crying. Wretched sobs pulled out from me. My body was reacting. A visceral alarm to something my eyes couldn't see, but my soul could feel. There was a darkness in ear.

It took everything in me to turn from that. room, and once I started, I didn't stop. I sped through the apartment and out the door, bypassing the elevator to take the stairs. I couldn't risk stopping while I was inside. It was like something was chasing me, right on the edge of my heels. I couldn't afford to slow down. That energy carried me from the apartment building and halfway down the block. It was the most exercise I had done in years, and the toll it took on my body didn't hit until then. I collapsed onto the sidewalk, gulping in mouthfuls of clean air, feeling the sun pricked my skin awake. It was like I died in there, and the fresh breeze of life was resurrecting me.

Louis found me there, about an hour later, sat on the sidewalk with my head dangling dejectedly. He slowed to a stop, rolled down the window, and shook his head. You don't take kindly to following directions, oh, kid. I didn't respond, instead moving to the open car door. Fast as a whip, he locked it, leaving me outside. You said you give me a ride, I protested. He laughed, a bitter sting that made my ears redden. You ain't bringing that around me, boy, he juggled, I told you so.

He sped off down the street, leaving me alone in the fast approaching nightfall. The 15-minute drive home was a third. three-hour walk. I walked those three hours. I could have bit the bullet and called an Uber, but something in me didn't want to be stagnant in the dark. If I kept moving, I would be fine. Fine from what, I don't know. What the eyes can't see, remember? When I got home, I am dressed in the hallway, quickly, before anyone could see me. I left my clothes there in front of my door because they reaped. I went to the shower,

turned the water as hot as it could go, and scrubbed. I don't know how long I was in there, but it was long past when the water turned cold, and I ran through my entirely monthly supply of body wash and shampoo. I scrubbed until my skin turned raw and red, and until I couldn't smell anything

but cheap dollar store peppermint. I wished desperately for the sud to strip me of that scent, for the stench to swirl along with it right down the drain. I sighed, then sniffed. Clean. I was finally clean. All the lights of my apartment went on soon after that.

Light bill be damned. It would be hard to sleep, but so be it. There's no amount of money in the world, or no loss of slumber I couldn't handle to never have to feel what I felt in that place ever again. But I did try to sleep after that. tossing and turning under the overhead light until I fell into the void of empty dreams.

The smell woke me at 2 a.m. It curled the hairs of my nose and beaded my forehead with sweat. That sickening smell, the smell of rot, snaking its way into my home. My eyes shut open and I froze, dread coursing through my veins.

Something's here. And it's outside. something was moving around in my living room, something with slow, dragging movements that squished as it ambled. My voice caught in my throat, but I couldn't let loose. I didn't dare to.

Louie's last words hung in my head. I brought it home with me. I laid there, frozen to my mattress, as it searched around my apartment. I could hear it fumbling through drawers, Climbing over furniture, knocking things to the ground. The stench grew stronger with every passing moment. The ranted miasma, making my head swim.

It moved towards my room. I had the floorboarded the hallway creek, just the way they did when I walked on them. The sound was sending me into a frenzy, my chest pounding. The smell grew stronger. From underneath the door, I could see a shadow roll by. It paused and turned. I panicked. My head shot out and clicked the light of my lamp.

I don't know why, but it did. I felt I needed to do something. In an instant, my room was shrouded in darkness. I had no windows in here, just the bare wall. The shadow halted as well, ceasing its movement once the light fell. It pulsed there for a moment, and I kept my eyes. trained on its dark form. I didn't blink.

After an eternity, it moved, slithering down the hallway towards the bathroom. At the scene, a terrible relief washed through me, as I realized something. It likes the light. Those blankets against the window suddenly makes sense. I've been trapped here for these three weeks.

Did you know that's how long a human can survive without food? Water, not so much. But I thank God, at least 30 times, that I was lazy enough to leave a few half-empty bottles of water strewn across my room. No food, though. I've starved before, back in college, but this was something different.

I finally have a flat stomach now, at least. I still don't know why I'm writing this. I've been brainstorming, you see. My phone works, but I don't have anyone to call. No family, no friend. I thought about calling the police, but the idea that some poor schmuck could get stuck with this thing.

No, I couldn't do it. Believe it or not, I'm not a horrible guy. But I do have an idea. If I wait long enough, then the light bulbs in the hallway will die. Then the place will be dark, just like it needs to be.

I think I know what that tenant was trying to do. If I'm smart about it, maybe I could trap this thing Damn I just made a noise now when I moved I crushed some of the trash beneath me That's another thing I realised Back when the smell was driving me to the brink

I had a can of air freshener in here Dam near emptied the entire thing And it didn't make a dent in it It wasn't strong enough Then I hide my trash can It was packed to the brim with papers and wrappers a few rotten banana peels. I took it and emptied it out over the floor.

It stank, but God did it help. The smell of the garbage was foul enough to push that putridness back, to cloud it. It wasn't pleasant, but it sure was preferable to whatever that thing was. Thing. I know what it is. It damn near told me.

It's nothing. It's the voice. The darkness. That little bit of nothing God created so that he could put something in it. Something opposite of it. Life. Maybe he forgot to trash it when he was done.

I don't know. But he left it there. And it hid. And it waited. Because it wanted. It wanted that light he filled everything with. That's why it smells rotten. Because it is rotten.

it's rot and it's death and it's been peaking itself under my door for the last few minutes damn i think you can smell the light from my laptop i turned down the brightness as far as it could go but it's still hold on